


Beating Around The Bush

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Neal Caffrey, Awkward Conversations, Fluff, Humor, Hurt Neal Caffrey, Hurt/Comfort, Urination, Worried Peter Burke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: Or, 5 times Neal didn't want to talk about his bladder and 1 time he didn'thaveto.
Kudos: 36
Collections: WC², autfic by autistics





	Beating Around The Bush

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it's _slightly_ outside the usual structure for this type of fic. I'm autistic, I don't follow convention. Deal with it ; )

Neal stepped out of the elevator swiftly, turning to the left instead of right into the office. 

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Peter asked, tapping him repeatedly on the back. 

“Ehm..” _Crap. This had never come up before._

Usually, he would go while Peter was briefing Hughes, or talking to Diana. He could slip away without being noticed, returning in time before anyone got _suspicious_.

“Well, I just need to..pop 'round there for a second,” he pointed, hoping it was clear enough. He _certainly_ wasn’t keen on elaborating. 

Peter narrowed his eyes, but dismissed him with a wave. 

* * *

Saying it to Peter was awkward enough, he wasn’t _five_ years old...but within earshot of witnesses was even worse. 

He tried to keep his leg squeezing to a minimum, but unfortunately, the floor of the museum was linoleum. Not exactly friendly to the shuffling of shiny shoes. 

“What’s the matter?” Peter asked abruptly. 

“Nothing,” Neal scoffed, looking sideways at Peter. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive. Now, do you mind? Trying to do my job,” he pointed irritated at the painting in front of him. 

Neal subtly slid one hand into his pocket, putting the other on his cheek, leaning forward as if he was studying the canvas. In truth, he finished that in like 5 minutes. And as soon as he did, the consequence of the traffic appeared. 

Peter wasn’t fooled. For a brief moment, lacking eyes in the back of his head, Neal crossed his left leg behind his right. 

It wasn’t that surprising, traffic _had_ been bad...what was surprising was the fact that he was ignoring it. 

He decided to move to the side. Imagining that perhaps, space would _urge_ Neal to go. Peter made certain that his back was turned, in a natural way. If it was the fact that he was Neal’s handler, that made him think he needed to ask _permission_ like he was in school, he’d give him the opportunity to break this “rule”. 

It worked. Somewhat. Neal figured Peter got tired of looking at the one painting and saw his chance. 

“Hey, do you mind if I take a look around?” he asked, inhaling nervously. _Well, that’s not gonna work…_

“What for?” Peter asked, with a raised eyebrow. It was a strange request. 

Neal pinched his nose, fighting off a blush. He got closer, speaking as quietly as he could. 

“It’s just..well, you know, I had a lot of _water_ , so..” he waved at the stairs as well as further into the gallery. 

“Two minutes. Back on this floor. Upstairs on the right,” Peter informed him firmly. 

“Thanks” Neal’s cheekbones were a subtle pink as he turned and ran. 

* * *

It wasn’t a particularly long meeting. But it was a crowded meeting. If it had been just Peter with someone else talking, he’d _maybe_ manage to slip him a note saying where he was going, excluding all eye contact.

Worse, Hughes was talking. If he tried that, Hughes might ask where he was going, wishing to be in the loop about his movements as well. 

“Alright, that will be all. You’re dismissed,” 

“Oh thank god,” Neal sighed, grabbing his hat. 

Peter was about to make a remark about the value of bureaucracy, but Neal was already out the door. 

“Neal! Neal?!” he barked out the door, calling after his runaway consultant. 

“What’s chasing _him?_..” Hughes grumbled. 

Burke was wondering the very same. Neal usually knew better than to take off. 

He waited at Neal’s desk. Its owner swallowed nervously at the sight of him. 

“What I’d do now?” he asked. The look of disappointment was getting kind of old.

“You know full well you can’t just take off like that,” Peter stated simply. 

“Sorry. I _really_ had to go,” Neal apologised. 

The agent’s eyes widened in surprise at the admission. It was obvious, but nonetheless an unexpected example of _candor_. 

He nodded. 

“I get that. You’re forgetting that your anklet doesn’t tell me where in a building you are. I can’t have you out of my sight, without some form of assurance as to your location. Understand?” 

“Understood,” Neal tipped his hat humbly, in deference. 

* * *

Peter had invited Neal for dinner, to help him forget what happened with Rebecca. 

It was pot roast again, this time cooked by Elizabeth. The mission against the pink panthers had kept her husband busy in a way that for once didn’t include her. If she had been worried, the meat would get burned. WIth her husband out of harm’s way he could keep _Neal_ safe, so she was much more relaxed than she was normally. 

Neal helped clear the table, picking off platters of sauce and toppings, and taking them into the kitchen, before either of the Burkes even noticed them missing. 

“Want to watch something that is _not_ baseball with me?” Peter asked, as Neal wiped off his hands. 

“Sure..I’ll meet you in there,” he agreed, running up the stairs. 

Peter got up from his chair, leaning on a bookcase. 

“Hear what he just said?” he asked his wife, ruminating. 

“Yeah! Been a while since you’ve _bonded_ like that,” El replied warmly. 

“No..the other part..where he was going,” he clarified. 

“He just went to the bathroom, didn’t he?” Elizabeth didn’t follow. 

“Of course. Have you noticed how he never outright _says_ it? That he’s going to the bathroom?..” Peter queried. 

“That’s what euphemisms are for, honey,” she pointed out. 

“He doesn’t even use those. He always skirts around the subject..anything remotely implicit,” 

Elizabeth looked like she was given a small epiphany.

“Huh. I’ve never realised that. When he’s with me, he just pointed his thumb in the relevant direction. That was just when it was an inopportune moment, where he’d need a reason to walk away. I didn’t draw together a pattern until now,” she commented. 

Peter just shook his head. “Neal’s ... _Neal_ ,” he noted.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the man in question smirked, looking at Elizabeth. 

“What are you discussing in here? World peace?” he joked. 

Peter dismissed him, leading him into the living room. 

* * *

They were just enjoying themselves watching some British cop show, when Peter leaned back, considering. 

“What?” Neal asked immediately. 

“Nothing,” 

“You’re not looking at the TV..what is it?” he asked, puzzled. 

“Why do you keep _beating around the bush_ , whenever you need to go to the bathroom?” Peter asked. 

It had been a while since their last uncomfortable conversation. Not long enough to prevent him from rolling his eyes, however. 

Neal shrugged. He didn’t have a good, detailed or complex answer to that. At least not one he was willing to give. 

Peter nudged him. “I..it’s been this way for as long as I can remember,” he commented. 

Burke raised an eyebrow with interest. 

“Well, since school, anyway. Since the first time I had to _tell someone_ that I was going to the bathroom,” Neal scoffed, as if the idea offended him from day one. 

“It was _embarrassing_ _!_ I didn’t know any of the other kids...I was newer than most, after all. I didn’t want to admit _that_ to them. Of course, it’s a natural thing, but I’d had privacy in that area, ever since I finished potty training. Losing that privacy, among _strangers_ no less..was tough. Teacher solved it before the _inconvenience_ of my stance could ruin my 4th-grade cred. I ended up just asking to be ‘excused’. Perfect vagueness,” he retold.

“So, you’ve grown up not really having to state it,” Peter noted. Neal nodded. 

“Outside my apartment, I was free to roam. There was no other human being in the equation. Prison’s straightforward,” 

“Not entirely,” Peter pointed out. “That how you learned to sneak off for all manner of other pursuits?” 

“Well, that started when you started chasing me, but yeah. Was where it was improved,” Neal scratched the back of his head. Not the most _flattering_ origin story for his skills. 

“So, it really is impossible for you to _voice_ it, like everybody else?” Peter continued. 

Neal turned quite red. “I’m blushing just imagining it. You know, when you work in an office with that many people, it’s not exactly easy to notice how many _other_ people go to the bathroom,” he reasoned. 

“That...doesn’t sound that irrational. I have been reading up on your...uniqueness,” Burke informed him. “It said that people on the spectrum may seem inattentive, but it’s just because their brains choose _focus_ points faster, and more frequently. Basically, with enough thoughts to juggle at once, even a lecture can be remembered in full. Like when I thought you spaced out that one time,” he mentioned.

Neal smiled widely at his handler’s investment into his differences. 

“I was looking at your tie moving as you breathed,” 

“Breathing is a common fixation. It’s a sign someone is alive. Sweet,” he wrapped his arm around the con man. “And ties have been your pet rock since we met”

“That’s what you compare items of comfort, identity and to a degree, a _special interest_ , to? A pet rock,” Neal deadpanned, irritated.

“Sorry, I wasn’t minimizing it. It’s just cute the way you protect them from _evil_ mustard stains,” Peter couldn’t resist the jab. 

“You keep that up, imma punch you. Again,” Neal warned. 

“Okay. I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s just the outside perspective. You’re more _sensitive_ than so many other...lawbreakers I’ve dealt with,” he’d long since stopped using the word 'criminal'. 

“That’s why there’s a white and blue-collar dividing line,” 

“Keller was pure _navy_ ,” Peter huffed. Neal made a fart noise, pointing his thumb down. 

“Seems they were right in saying some autistics were immature,” Elizabeth laughed, putting down some snacks. 

“What were we talking about again?” 

Neal looked away. _Cursed enhanced memory._ He sympathised with Mozzie for a second.

“I don’t know,” he lied, running his hands along the arm of the couch. 

“Yes, you do. We were talking about how you don’t mention needing to pee,” Peter remembered.

Neal exhaled in a big exhausted puff, throwing his head back. “God help me..” he whined. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in God,” 

“I don’t. Hence, I’m saying his name in vain,” Neal smirked. 

“You know it makes sense, that someone with an eye for detail would look at little things, like what people are doing. You were taught from an early age about the bathroom and how " _everyone_ uses it", and then BAM! Adult world does nothing to confirm this,” Peter noted. 

“Exactly,” Neal agreed. He was right on the money. 

“Why do you think the FBI has bathrooms? It’s not just for _your_ benefit,” 

“Touché, good point,” Neal mused, as he flexed his chin, taking in the “new” information.

Peter suddenly snorted amusedly.

“You know what’s worse than my deviled ham? _That!_ “ he pointed at the screen. 

DI Miller was holding a Scotch egg. 

“How can the Brits eat that? A breaded sausage with egg? Pork and egg are supposed to be separate. You don’t put bacon of your eggs for breakfast,” Peter argued. 

“I’m more concerned with why its called a Scotch egg, when a man so _violently_ Scottish can’t bear even touching it?” Neal shook his head, indicating Alec Hardy. 

“I’m starting to think he might be like you, in _some_ way,” Peter hinted. 

“What makes you say that?” Neal had genuinely not seen a single similarity. 

“Well, he’s not very social, he microwaves his tea,” 

“He’s an affront to _every_ stereotype. Especially the tea thing..plus, he didn’t _have_ to move to Broadchurch. He endangered his heart _and_ his comfort zone for the sake of pride, sense of accomplishment. Skewed priorities if you ask me,” 

“Right, nothing like gambling your freedom for a girl,” Peter mentioned. 

Neal looked at Peter, then down. His eyes grew teary. 

Peter hugged him immediately. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up Kate. I didn’t mean that _at all_ ,” he apologised profusely. 

  
“Now who’s saying the Lord’s name in vain...” Neal muttered, smelling Peter’s shirt.

They chuckled. “Kate’s surrounded by more gold in Heaven than you could ever dream of stealing,” 

“And that’s enough Sunday school preaching for one evening,” Neal wriggled free, drying his tears. 

The white cliffs of Dover soon replaced all thoughts. It also ended the conversation. 

* * *

Neal stepped off the elevator like always. And once again, Peter put his hand on his shoulder. Except, this time Neal was headed in the “right” direction. 

“Wanna hit the head before we start?” Peter asked, pointing down the habitual hallway. 

Neal blushed, clearing his throat. “No, I’m good,” he claimed. 

It was partially true, as he was reasonably fine in that area. 

Peter walked up to his office. He immediately noticed the way Neal was hunched over. He could bring the file closer to him, and yet, he was leaning. 

_Hmm…_

As soon as he looked down, Neal was out the door. 

Peter peeked above his own file, chuckling warmly. 

“Kooky Caffrey,” he muttered. 

  
  


**As long as he didn’t get a bladder infection, or get shot on the way out of the van, they had nothing else to discuss.**

**THE END.**


End file.
